One Good Reason
by Analyn 100
Summary: Harry in Azkaban for Cedric's murder in the Triwizard Tournament. How far will Fudge go to silence the Boy Who Lived? *Previously titled 'Guilty until Proven Innocent' by Liana Mei
1. Game Over

Chapter One: Game Over

Harry Potter was never the sort of person to plan ahead, there was no point. Trouble always found him no matter how much he tried to avoid it and that was never more true than it was right now. But this time, trouble could be found in the form of masked pursuers and their flying curses that he kept dodging as he tried to heed his ghostly father's advice to get back to the Triwizard Cup. Trouble was the panicked look on Cedric Diggory's face as he watched from the tree to which he was bound. Why hadn't anyone ever told him that portkeys could be a two-way ticket? If he had known he would have just taken the Cup back to Hogwarts as soon as he realized he was in a graveyard _before _Voldemort's decrepit form could give the order for Pettigrew to 'Stun them.'

Cedric's face turned from a look of panic to sheer horror. Harry didn't have even a second to wonder why. The jet of light that Cedric had seen collided with the back of Harry's right knee and a second one hit his wand hand. The sound of the joint popping was like a gunshot to the victims. In the same moment, Harry's wand slipped out from between his injured fingers, taking with it the last of their hope. Harry fell right onto his broken knee in the space of a single heartbeat. He locked eye contact with Cedric whose face mirrored that of his own: eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream. Harry's plan had been to get to Cedric and summon the Cup. There was no plan B, there was no alternative. There was no hope, and they both knew it.

The pain returned with a vengeance, his near escape had given rise to a new level of hatred from Voldemort and it was evident in his curses. Harry lay on the ground, writhing and screaming, vaguely recognizing Cedric's incessant pleas for mercy. But Voldemort had none. But Cedric didn't know that. Cedric didn't know that Voldemort had been raised in an orphanage without any care and compassion. Cedric didn't know that Voldemort had taken pleasure from torturing kids at a young age. Or that he had set the basilisk on fellow students. Cedric didn't know that the more he begged, the worse the curses got. He had no idea he was adding fuel to the fire that was burning Harry from the inside out. But Harry didn't care. "Shut up!" The shrill scream stopped everyone, including Voldemort.

"Is there something you want to say, Harry?" Voldemort almost smiled down at him, something sickly sweet and disgusting. "All you have to do is say the word, and all of the pain will be gone."

"Tom, go to Hell. Hate to break it to you, but I'm not suicidal. And, Cedric, shut up!" The curses would be starting up any second now. Hopefully Cedric would hurry up and learn to keep his pie hole shut.

"Harry! I'm trying to help you! And who is Tom?"

"You're NOT helping! Just shut up! Maybe he should curse you while I beg for mercy, see how you like it! Just shut up and then…" But Harry stopped, he put his head back down in the dewy grass and stared up at the starless skies. 'And then…' Then what was there? Waiting while Voldemort broke him? Voldemort wasn't going to let him get away. He wasn't going to get a second chance. There would be no happy ending to this madness. One way or another it was all going to end tonight. Harry just took a deep breath and closed his eyes, willing everything to be over, bracing himself for the curses, but they didn't come. He cracked his eyelid open just enough to see something that made his blood freeze, something almost comical.

Voldemort was smiling.

With a wordless gesture, Harry was brought to his feet and floated towards the tree next to Cedric. Handcuffs were placed on each of his wrists, the interlocking chain stretching all the way around the large tree.

"You know something, Potter? You are absolutely right."

"I am?" Harry's cursed and befuddled brain could not have interpreted that correctly. Voldemort would never agree with him. "Wait, right about what?"

"You see, Potter, I never expected two victims here tonight. I was only counting on you. But my most faithful servant has provided me with two boys: a spare, if you will."

"I won't." Why not just say it now? Whatever Voldemort wanted, he wasn't going to do. There would be no discussion, no compromise.

"Won't what, Potter?"

"Whatever you want me to do to Cedric won't get done."

"You seem to be missing the point, Potter. It's not what you'll do that matters. Its what people think you'll do."

"Sorry?"

Harry studied his enemy, watched his every movement, bracing himself for some kind of trick, but nothing happened. He kept staring, not at Harry but at Cedric. Cedric was squirming as those red eyes studied him, like a predator stalking his prey as he twirled his wand between his fingers….Harry's eyes snapped back to the wand and the hand holding it. A flesh colored glove was gripping a very familiar wand…it looked almost like his in fact. Well that shouldn't surprise him. Ollivander had said their wands were twins, surely there was bound to be a resemblance. But then he scanned the flattened grass where he had been on the ground just moments before…but it wasn't there. Voldemort was nodding slowly as understanding dawned on Harry's face.

"No! No! No!" Harry shook his head as though to shake it off. Harry chanced a glace at his fellow champion, who was struggling to shake the chains off, his eyes still on his wand that was lying undisturbed in the grass a few feet away. If Cedric had learned enough wandless magic he could get to his wand and then what? What plan was being concocted in that head of his? Get to his wand and then what? Apparate away and leave Harry? Summon the Cup…which would still leave Harry? But Cedric wasn't going to make it. Even Harry knew that, if he could get to his wand he would have already done so. Cedric's frantic shaking was that of a desperate man with no options.

"No, please don't! I didn't mean it!"

"Avada -!"

"NO!" Harry was screaming now, his voice broken and hoarse. "NO!" The situation quickly spun out of control. He had only been joking, he hadn't been serious. He could see Cedric trembling from head to toe even in the darkness. Voldemort's – no, Harry's – wand, was just inches from his chest. Voldemort was standing just out of reach of Cedric's kicking feet.

"You don't need to hurt him! Let him go! He's the 'spare'! You don't need to kill us both!"

"I don't intend to!" That shallow whisper scared Harry more than the shrillest scream.

"What?"

"It's your wand. Everyone at the school already thinks you attacked your fellow students. They just didn't have the proof. Well now, they'll have their proof and then some. You didn't beg for death when you had the chance, Potter. Now you'll wish you had."

"They won't believe it!" It was Cedric talking now, his eyes fixed on the wand. "Harry's too nice. He's got no reason to. It won't work."

"No reason, is that what you think? My most faithful servant tells me you both have affections for the same girl. You get the girl and Potter gets angry. It's the oldest motive in the book. A murder weapon-" He raised the wand. "A motive: the girl. All the public will know is that the two of you had a dispute not only over the trophy and prize money, but also the girl. Money, fame and a girl: triple motive. And you've been gone for nearly an hour, how's that for an _opportunity_!"

"No!" Harry's trembling was starting to rival Cedric's. His voice was shaking almost as much as his limbs. "Please. I'm the one you were after. Please don't kill him." The tears were leaking out of his eyes. He blinked them back, determined not to show any weakness, but he was reaching his breaking point. They both knew it.

"You want mercy? You missed your chance, Potter. You will regret this night for the rest of your life. One by one your friends will condemn you to Hell. For the rest of your life you will rot in misery. Left with nothing but your worst memories of dying screams, you will yearn for an escape. How long you will torture yourself in despair will be up to you, but you WILL beg for death. Perhaps then you will get your mercy."

Harry had never felt more was powerless in all his life. He was screaming incessantly for mercy he knew wouldn't come. But they were damned anyway: damned if he begged and damned if he did nothing. He had nothing to loose but his dignity...and what value did that have at a time like this?"No! No, please –"

"Avada Kedavra!"

That bright green light and the rush of speeding death had been something that Harry never thought he'd live to remember.

The curse hit Cedric squarely in the chest. The force of it knocked his head hard against the tree trunk. His eyes rolled upward, as the light seemed to leave them…or perhaps that was a trick of his own tears. Cedric's body slumped towards the ground, as he hung by his wrists. His body was untied and laid in the flattened grass that Harry had occupied just moments before…or perhaps it had been hours. Time seemed to have stood still, it didn't matter anymore.

The Triwizard Cup magically floated across the graveyard and settled next to Cedric's prone form.

He could run, as soon as the chains were removed. But run where? He was totally surrounded. Running would only make him look guilty. One of the men present would claim to have "found" Cedric. If he ran, he would look guilty. All he had to do was show his thankfully intact memories, perhaps even drink some of the Veritaserum Snape had threatened him with. He wouldn't run - that would solidify Voldemort's plan - that would ruin his last hope. His wand was placed in the breast pocked of his Triwizard uniform. As his wrists were uncuffed, all of the men turned their wands on him, tracking his movements as he limped slowly towards the first dead body he could remember seeing. "I'm sorry, Cedric. It's my fault. I'm so sorry."

Harry slowly lay down next to Cedric, careful of his injured limbs and took hold of Cedric's arm. He was still warm. Slowly, rather reluctantly, he grasped the cold, smooth handle of the Triwizard Cup. The one trophy he had fervently come to desire over the last several months had become a death trap, but there was still hope. All was not yet lost.

** To Be Continued

Author's Note: I'm sure some of you are quite mad – I'm currently ducking rotten tomatoes – but I hope you'll agree that this rewrite was in order. There was too much telling and not enough showing in the last draft. I have a chapter almost completely written of Harry being interrogated and two of his Arrival in Azkaban, one featuring Sirius's reaction to all of this. So lots of action coming, that's my promise and I hope you enjoyed your little preview to my new draft. So reviews, I love reviews *insert happy face* Is the new version better? Oh and please note the username change to Analyn 100.


	2. Invisible Scars

One Good Reason by Analyn100

Chapter Two: Invisible Scars

Harry closed his eyes against the swirling lights, lest he throw up. He rolled around like a rag doll across the renovated Quidditch Pitch, finally coming to land in front of the maze. He heard not frantic screams, but rather jubilant music and cheering, as far removed from his mind as anything could be. Harry had no use for it. He rolled onto his back and looked sideways. Cedric's body could be seen laying spread-eagled on the ground a few feet away. He didn't even spare a thought for the damned Triwizard Cup. A blood curdling scream filled the air, stopping the spectators in mid-clap. A small stampede could be felt rocking the ground.

"I'm sorry." Harry's voice was dry and croaked from screaming. He knew he must look a wreck, but he didn't care and couldn't stop himself. There were faces swimming above him in the pool of tears. They had to know, they had to be made to understand. "I didn't mean it! I didn't want him to die!" He reached out to the person nearest to him, trying to make them stay still, his arms flailing. He had the impression that he was actually looking past the crowd rather than at them, such was the nausea that had not subsided. He did not see their stricken looks of disbelief. He didn't need to, the gasps and screams said it all. He retched and lay on the grass sputtering and heaving and retching, until frail hands with surprising strength grabbed hold of his arms and conjured a bucket at his feet. He grabbed it.

"Easy there, Potter, you're okay." It was McGonagall. She kept a firm hand on his back, rubbing his shoulders as he wretched. Questions were flying all around him but he could not hear them. All he knew was the crowd, the screams and the sharp shooting pains in his legs and that odd feeling that oxygen was in short supply. "Back up all of you, give him some space." Amazingly, the voices listened.

"Come on, Potter. Let's get you out of here." McGonagall held him under the arm and helped him to his feet. A second set of hands steadied him and offered him a pair of conjured crutchs that he clutched as though to a lifeline.

He glanced over not at Cedric, but at the frantic parents who were not allowed to see him. Harry allowed Prof. McGonagall to put an arm around his shoulder and steer him away. Now was not the time. The press had been summoned for the Tournament, but now they would be printing an entirely different story, the contents of which Harry was afraid to guess. He kept his head down against the glare of camera flashes. He did not need to ask where they were going. The route to the Hospital Wing was an all too familiar one.

Not one word was exchanged the entire time. Harry was too busy focusing on walking. He had to focus on something, something to take his mind off the hole he was falling into. He precariously made his way up the flights of stairs, leaving McGonagall to fuss behind him. She probably would have strapped him to a stretcher were it not for her fear that he would fall at the slightest misstep. They finally reached the last landing and entered the blindingly white Hospital Wing.

All he wanted to do was shut his eyes, crawl into a soft bed and go to sleep but he knew he wouldn't. Not tonight. He was still shaking. His eyes were painfully dry. There were no more tears. He had shed more in one night than he possibly had in his entire living memory, but the shaking wouldn't stop.

"What are you sorry for, Potter? You keep saying you're sorry. For what? What happened?" McGonagall took his chin in her hand, forcing him to look up at her. He saw not accusation or anger, but concern.

"Nothing! I didn't do it!" He was hysterical. He shoved her away, burying his face in his hands, trying to calm down, but the tears still poured through his burning eyes. He wanted them to stop, but they wouldn't. Nor would the tremors.

"I never said you did." Going against her professorial instinct, knowing that he wasn't going to calm down anytime soon, McGonagall put both arms around the boy, gently rubbing his back as he sobbed. Whatever had happened to put Potter in this state wasn't some accident of the Tournament. She had never seen him cry, ever. Even after the Chamber of Secrets, when he had been bloodied and poisoned, he hadn't been this unhinged. But then again no one had died that night. But true to Potter's reputation for stoicism, he had not mentioned one word about the pain. He had made no effort to stop the bleeding. He had not once asked for pain medicine or bandages. He was just glad to be away from the crowd. Whatever was causing him this much anguish had to do with Cedric's manner of death rather than his own injuries. Sometimes the deepest scars could not be seen. Those were the ones that took the longest to heal.

A second pair of hands gently pulled at his shoulders. He looked up to see Madame Pomfrey guiding him towards the bed where he was made to sit and rest his injured leg. He had almost gotten used to the pain. He was made to lay his head on the pillow with his feet propped up, even though he knew he couldn't sleep.

"Mr. Potter, you're in shock. You need to calm down. Just breathe, slow deep breaths. Now take this. It's a calming draught."

Harry shook his head. "I don't want it. I don't want to go to sleep." His shook his head with unnecessary force, his whole body trembling with suppressed sobs. He would not humiliate himself further with his tears, but the fear would not stay hidden. The thought of sleep was enticing but the prospect of nightmares was too much to bear.

"You need to rest, Potter. It's the only way you'll heal. Now, can you tell me how you hurt your leg? Was it a fall, or a curse?"

"A curse."

"Do you know which curse?"

Harry shook his head. "No, there were too many curses. I don't know which one actually hit my leg." Harry could tell by the nurse's raised eyebrows that she wanted to pursue the subject, but decided against it. Huffing all the way, she pulled a second vial out her cabinet. "Normally I would just mend the bones but since I don't know what spells were used on you that would be quite dangerous, especially with your blood pressure as high as it is. This, Mr. Potter, is called Osteofix, very similar to skelegrow. I trust you remember it." Harry nodded; it was hard not to remember that night filled with sharp stabbing pains in his useless floppy arm. He had hoped he would never need to repeat the experience." I'm going to mix it with Lidocaine, it's a pain medicine."

Harry nodded and reluctantly swallowed the bitter medicines in one mouthful.

"Now, this part won't hurt a bit. Just close your eyes, take a few deep breaths. That's it." Madame Pomfrey began her exam, performing diagnostic spells up and down his unusually still body. His cooperation alone alarmed her. When had he ever lain still for her? She could not remember a previous visit when he had not tried to sneak out or insist that he was fine.

He just stared blankly at the wall, his breaths finally evening out. Part of him wanted to talk, to tell her everything that happened. Wasn't that what you were supposed to tell the doctor? He kept expecting the questions, but they never came. He opened his mouth several times, licking his chapped lips and trying to think of the proper words, where to start, but he couldn't. How could he possibly explain the impossible?

To be Continued

PS. Osteofix (as you may have guessed) was a potion of my own invention. It just doesn't exist. Lidocain however does.

I am well aware that Lidocaine is a local INJECTABLE anesthetic. LIDOCAINE IS NOT MEANT FOR ORAL CONSUMPTION, ever. Do not drink Lidocaine. Period. It is not to be used without a physician's supervision. Ever.

Also, I currently have two more chapters that are almost finished. They just need a little bit of polishing and should be posted very shortly. Yes, I know this is going slowly, but its well out of my writing comfort zone and I want to get it right this time. So please bear with me…and review, please. I love reviews.


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